A Martyr for a Riddle
by Bombing
Summary: Maha used to be a man who had it all: money, women, fame and power. Then he died and lost everything. Looking back, it wasn't really everything. Because he didn't have her then.
1. Who?

**A Martyr for a Riddle**

**Chapter 1**

**Who?**

* * *

It wasn't another challenger. This time, it was an old woman who approached him.

Maha looked down at her: skeleton hands, wrinkly skin, and dressed in a raggedy cloak. What did a hag want from Maha, Azwan's greatest warrior? Kissing the cheek of a much younger, curvaceous woman next to him, Maha told the hag to leave him alone; he would not entertain a beggar.

But the hag did not leave. Instead, she asked him if he was satisfied with his life. Maha and his company laughed, mocking the old woman for her stupid question. The warrior was famous and was called with ferocious names: the Desert's Wrath, the King of Sandstorms, the Sun's Rage. He was wealthy – gold poured from his pockets and beautiful women longed to drape over his arms. He defeated countless horrific monsters and powerful enemies with the single swing of any weapon as long as it had a blade. Maha was the most powerful of the land. "What am I," Maha grinned, "if I am not content?

The old woman replied that it was good that Maha was happy with his small achievements. Irritated, Maha demanded what she meant. The hag said that Maha may be the strongest of all in Nihal Desert, but was he truly the strongest in the world? Had he ever traveled outside the borders of his nation?

Maha openly sneered. "What are you getting at, hag?"

The woman shook her head. "As I was traveling, I heard word that the strongest warrior from Azwan stays in the most expensive inn of Ariant. But now that I see him, I am disappointed. You are not the best warrior."

An insult. The men became silent. A deliberate provocation. The women inched away from his arms. A doubt of his strength. Maha would not stand for it.

He grabbed the dagger from another man's belt near him and pointed it to the old woman's neck. The women by his side shrieked, grabbing the inn's attention on him. Even the owner held his breath. They all knew that Maha was ill-tempered and unpredictable, the sandstorms embodied in one man.

But what was the use of slaying a pitiful old woman, bound to fade with age? A feat nothing impressive and the woman thought the same, not flinching when the blade curled around her fragile neck. Maha withdrew and the woman took a step closer, her shadowed eyes staring into Maha's golden ones. Finally she shook her head. The hag did not see what she hoped to see. She said, "If you look beyond your small world, you will understand what makes warriors great. As you are now, you will never be the best." As if deeming the warrior insignificant, she turned back to leave.

"I will be the judge of that!" Maha exclaimed. "Then tell me, who is the best warrior?" he demanded before the woman stepped out of the door. "Warrior, archer, rogue or mage - I will challenge him and prove to the world that I am the best!"

"The question is not 'who'," the woman said cryptically, her foot out of the door. "It is 'where'."

She closed the door behind her. Maha rushed out of the inn to interrogate for answers but she was already gone.

* * *

The men told him to go to the desert and fight some monsters. Clasping his shoulders, they told him to ignore the silly old woman. What did she know of the great Maha and his magnificent accomplishments? They pushed the booze and food to Maha, asking to borrow money they'll never pay back as they drunkenly sing. Maha passed them a few gold coins uncaringly to the pathetic, fools, for the warrior was forever plentiful with wealth. At least they're entertaining.

The women told him to relax. They praised him, admiring his muscles and playing with his long hair. Full red lips to his ears, quiet promises for a little fun, a good sleep for the night. Fingers circled his bare chest past his vest, and Maha took their offers, those devilishly seductive whores. He allowed them to guide him to their beds for thoughtless, steamy satisfaction. Maha consumed them like fire.

Still, Maha could not wipe out the old woman's words out of his mind. Collecting hundreds of bounties, defeating King Abdullah the Second's top soldiers, rising to the top in Azwan's gladiator ring – Maha began to wonder if they were small. If they were insignificant.

The more Maha considered, the more he scoffed. The monsters of Nihal Desert were some of the most fearsome in the world. Towering monster cactuses that sucked the blood of men dry. Reptiles the size of dragons slept under the sand, waiting for an oblivious traveler to walk over their mouths. Giant scorpions whose venom froze the blood in seconds, leaving the corpses for the flesh hungry vultures to nibble. Abominations made out of sand that suffocated men, tugging their ankles down and leaving no traces. The warriors of Nihal Desert could kill all of those beasts, and Maha was the strongest of them. There was no challenge for him.

But for some reason, Maha managed to hear more than he used to. In the streets, the people talked of the warriors of Mu Lung who train night and day. Their bodies were their weapons and they needed to blade to kill. They people spoke of the hunters in El Nath, who conquer the chill with ease, battling werewolves and strange creatures thought to be from hell. In Leafre, there's a war amongst the kings of dragons, stewing so much chaos that no man dared to step on the land if he wanted to live.

The conqueror inside Maha stirred awake, intrigued by the tales. Perhaps there was nothing wrong in traveling. And what if the strongest man in the world was like him, comfortable in his own home and living in luxury? Maha would have waited until death for an ultimate fight that would not come.

For the first time, the warrior stepped foot onto a ship. He flew to Orbis, where there was a ship for every place in the world. When asked by strangers where he was planning to go, Maha answered anywhere where he could challenge himself. Where the strongest man in the world lived.

Different answers from every one of them. El Nath. Leafre. Mu Lung. Herb Garden. More than a few mentioned Victoria Island, only to say the travel to the island was too dangerous for any ship to venture to. Frustrated of the various answers, Maha took a different tactic. Which land had the strongest monster?

"A monster that no one has defeated yet," Maha said.

The question was very hard to answer for the strangers. Some say the Balrog was powerful. Others say the three dragon kings in Leafre were undefeatable. But one answered differently. There was a monster who can change the weather, he whispered with shaky breath. It carried the blizzard on its back and had swallowed men whole.

One after another, each men shared the rumors they have heard of the creature. Nine adventurers up the lone mountain with one returned to tell the tale only to die with a curse. A two-headed monster, humongous yet moves like lightning. The locals don't know how it looked like, the men warned. They insisted that Maha should not go.

Maha surveyed the men's grave faces and contemplated. The Balrog roamed in the uninhabitable Victoria Island and was too far. Travel would take months. Leafre was the closest but there was a war currently waged there among the dragons and halflingers. To become a war hero was a golden idea, but to be a soldier first? And to fight in another man's battle? A dishonor.

And so the Desert's Wrath turned back of the comforts of his land and faced toward the chilly winds.

* * *

El Nath was cold.

So cold that Maha's cheeks became numb upon exposure to the harsh weather. It's an extreme change, from desert to winter, but Maha was not like the other tourists and stood around to gawk at the snow. He had a goal and was determined to fulfill it. Despite the chill, the warrior purchased a thick, furry cloak over his vest and harem pants; no padded jacket or pants. Faintly shivering, Maha knew that the cloak was not enough to keep him completely warm, but he refused to bow down to the weather. His blood would burn harder than the wind and in time it did.

Temperature would not defeat the greatest warrior in the world.

Maha trudged through feet of snow to reach an inn. The best start for anyone who scour for information.

The weathered faces of old, large men greet him when Maha entered. The men of El Nath were brawnier than the men of Ariant and the smallest of them was taller than the tallest gladiator Maha saw in Azwan. Red faced, bulging muscles under thick fur coats, all tower Maha. But at Maha's question of the monster of the mountain, they become silent, some of them even quivering in knowing.

One man, an experienced werewolf hunter with his trophy furs draped over his shoulders, told Maha to stay away.

Maha smirked. The Sun's Rage answered that he was the strongest warrior of Nihal Desert and arrived to El Nath to challenge the snow beast. All he needed was knowing the quickest passage to the mountain."

"As a man from the desert, you are unused to the chill," the hunter said. "And even if you adapt to the snow, the beast's cold runs deeper. Shocks your bones and crushes them like ice. You will die like the others."

Bristling, Maha told the hunter to fight him. If Maha defeated him, the hunter must tell him the area where the monster resides. If Maha lost, he would return to Nihal Desert.

Maha knocked the man off his feet and pointed his weapon – a spear he borrowed from another man – at the hunter's neck within minutes. He didn't break a sweat. Taunting, Maha asked if the man was even trying.

Bounded by their agreement, the hunter told the directions. Then, he angrily claimed that Maha was too arrogant and that no matter how strong he seemed to be, he would flee back to town by nightfall. The monster would overwhelm Maha.

With a final jab at the hunter's pride, the desert warrior left El Nath's inn to find the monster.

He walked south, far into the evergreen trees and the black rocks. If Maha wasn't so ambitious, he would have stopped to stare at the incredible amount of trees in wonder. The meager trees that struggled to survive in Nihal Desert could not compete against El Nath's, their branches long and thick that they knitted together to make walls of green by the path. But Maha did not care for the scenery. Instead, he continued walking until he crossed over the rushing river and hills to another forest. This time the trees were so tall that they nearly blot out the sun. It was becoming hard to distinguish day and night in the immense shade. Maha stubbornly climbed up the lone mountain of El Nath until he was at the edge of the sharp cliffs.

Then the biting winds came. Maha raised a bare arm to shield his face. The snowstorms in El Nath moved as swiftly as the sandstorms in Nihal Desert.

Storm…

Through clenched jaws, Maha smiled and focused his sight through the white distance. Over the roaring of the blizzard, Maga could hear the distinct sloshing through the snow, as if someone or some_thing _was drudging through it. Maha finally saw a dark shape forming. Unhesitant, Maha rushed towards it, spear ready in hand.

It was a huge beast, nothing like Maha had ever seen before: thick white fur, enormous arms that scraped the ground, and a mouth full of rows of jagged, sharp teeth. Upon charging, Maha took a good look and realized the monster did not have two heads. Instead, there was a wolf clutching the head of the white body. How dull. A two headed snow beast would be more awe inspiring but the white creature appeared deadly enough to impress many. Maha stabbed the hand that tried to grab him.

An anguished scream. The monster turned tail to flee, but Maha chased it. This is the monster that killed all those men? This monster was nothing! Still, Maha would not return with nothing and must take its head for proof that he fought the monster. Maha chased the beast but the beast was too fast. Maha threw his spear at the monster. The spear marked its target and the monster fell, bleeding bright red over the fresh fallen snow.

Then interference. A powerful wing blew off Maha's furred cloak, leaving the desert man truly vulnerable to the storms. As his body went chilled with the frost, Maha heard a voice, feminine and outraged. Swiftly the warrior gazed around to find the owner of the voice, but could not find the woman.

"I am the Spirit of the Snow!" the voice cried. It echoed throughout the snowscape and pounded into Maha's skull from sheer force. "How dare you attack the Snowman, the kindest creature borne in this barren land!"

Maha yelled back to the air that the 'Snowman' was a monster. What kind creature would slay men with such ease, delivering the blizzards to inflict pain to whoever he pleased? It was only retribution that it must fall. Yet the spirit wailed back like a banshee that they were all lies, all misunderstandings. Not carry but follow was what the Snowman did, all to help the humans who foolishly travel during the storms. Sobbing, the indignant spirit declared that every man her son attempted to save would attack!

"Those ingrates!" she spitefully hissed. All could end, the spirit claimed, if Maha could return to town to give two choices to the humans: to make peace or forever leave the Snowman alone.

But Maha would not return town with a sob story and he announced his intentions to the spirit. He approached closer to the dying Snowman, who looked at the warrior with fear. He said, "It is your fault, Spirit of the Snow, to create this abomination in the beginning."

Before Maha could end the Snowman's misery, rocks rose from the ground in the shape of spears around the warrior and rained down around him. Jagged icy bars and the warrior was trapped in like a caged animal. Another wind, and Maha saw a pale woman cradling the dying Snowman in her arms. White, pupil less eyes looked at Maha, face grim. The Spirit of the Snow nodded and said, "I agree. The World Tree has created a rotten race to foul this planet. No human should come near my sweet, pitiful son lest he'll be corrupted."

The Spirit of the Snow plucked out Maha's spear and healed the Snowman's wound in a flash. The mountain rumbled around the three and Maha watched as the rocks trapping him grew taller and taller. He pounded against the growing rocks but they would not fall. The spirit spoke comforts and wonders to her son yet Maha caught only a few words. "I will create you friends and so you will never be lonely. I will create you treacherous mountains and so no human will ever harm you." Her words prove true, Maha thought, the ground moving like the waves of an ocean below his feet. The land was changing.

Freezing, Maha realized he would fall here and he raged against the spirit, cursing her with his final breaths. The Spirit of the Snow floated toward the fallen King of Sandstorms and hissed that mere death was too good to this hopeless mortal. Glowing bright and blue, the spirit clutched the warrior's shoulders, ice sharper than any blade, hotter than any heat, burned into his body and Maha felt his heart bursting inside his rib cage. With a cold smile, the spirit crooned, "I am not so cruel to have you depart without a gift. One that will give you the fate my son won't have."

Her knowing, pupil less white eyes were Maha's last sight.

* * *

Maha woke up gasping for air that he could not breathe. He touched himself to see if he was fine only to see his own hands go through his body. Maha panicked and his vision was filled with white. Snow snow snow.

The dead warrior remembered and was refilled with bubbling fury. He flew, unhindered by the harsh temperature, for the Spirit of the Snow only to realize that there was no longer one lone mountain. Many stand now with thousands of forests with many furry monsters that looked so similar to the Snowman that Maha loathed them immediately. Maha released a scream and shocked himself when the monsters fled, the once tame winds now harsh. The fallen warrior looked at his hands and saw the winds gathered, the storms following his command. He now carried the power of ice.

Maha did not know whether to be pleased or disgusted by the irony. The cold that took his life away was now his faithful pet, bending every will its new master had. Power was nonetheless power. Maha searched high and low for the Spirit of the Snow and her son to have his revenge. Now he truly had nothing to lose.

But no matter how much he searched Maha could never find the spirit and her spawn.

Maha roared in fury. What was the use of this power if he could not use it? Not able to avenge his death, the warrior found no meaning in his spirit form and learned in horror that he could not move on. He was stuck on the mountains with no one. With nothing.

Eventually the humans became curious of the new mountains of El Nath that blocked entry to Mu Lung and Nihal Desert on foot. They came, and Maha tried to call for help, pride set aside only for this matter. But whenever humans crossed his path, the humans walked through him. They could not see Maha. In his rage and frustration, the dead warrior glowed red and that was all the humans could see: a red light. Curious, they approach closer to Maha, but they could not hear Maha's voice. In his grief, Maha inadvertently summoned a storm. Afraid, the travelers returned to town with wild tales, exaggerating an evil spirit that glowed red in the mountains.

"It's the ghost of the monster that summoned storms before the mountains sprang," they assumed. "Even dead it still attacks people."

Maha received challengers since. The ice spirit was pleased and gladly fought, though he no longer carried a blade. The way he fought against these rosy cheeked men depended on his mood. When Maha was envious, he would summon a storm to blow them off a cliff. When he was bored, Maha would violently shred his opponents by wearing their skin away with frost, eager to see a little red, a little change of color in the vast whiteness.

Merciless and cruel, he became known as the Blizzard Wraith. The number of challengers dwindled. And the humans noticed Maha's haunting. Unknown to the ice spirit, he stayed in one of the many mountains of El Nath and every traveler was warned to not approach too close to that specific mountain. Ghosts were tied to their deaths whether they desired it or not.

And Maha could not tell. Time did not move for the dead and the mountains were always changing. He sometimes asked himself, when was the last time he fought? He's remember but it always seemed like an hour ago. Or was it yesterday? It was just now! No, he had seen the moon once - rare right, very rare, can't tell if the world ever moved with the iron sky.

The Blizzard Wraith continued on and on and on. His existence was nothing but a white blur.

That was until he was captured.

* * *

Maha heard a voices and flew to the direction of the noise. He was gifted with a unique sight: two pandas – one with a bamboo hat and a staff, the other with a headband with a large baggage. Both were grabbing the side of a map, deeply invested in an argument concerning of the directions. They were clearly lost. Pity that they were not warriors, not his idea of fun of playing with animals.

The Blizzard Wraith, old and experienced, ice powers refined over the quick, passing centuries, learned to create icicles. Long and sharp like steel blades. The ice spirit raised a hand to pierce the chests of the two pandas, so easily like an old habit but hesitated. Something was strange. He could not put his tongue on it but there is something different. A feeling.

An instinct.

Curious, Maha floated closer to the travelers.

He was given a few seconds before he screamed - the first in what felt like forever. Very strange sensation, uncomfortable and nipping, not very desirable and it took Maha a moment to remember was it was.

Pain.

Real pain.

He looked back at the two stray pandas. The one with the bamboo hat had a scroll spread out in his paws, and he's chanting, the inked lettering on the wrinkled paper glowing blue. Magic.

A challenger.

The travelers were not lost after all and Maha cackled, mustering all his power and mana inside him, bursting it all out like a great flood tumbling down the dams. A hurricane surrounded them, the safe eye where the two pandas and the lone spirit were. The thrashing of the evergreen trees, the howling of the wind, the tumbling of the rocks, all mixing together in a whirlpool in the air. Maha would like to see the intruders' faces before the forces devoured them in.

Then...then it all stopped.

The ice spirit was shocked, absolutely baffled. His intangible knees are on the snow, the dead warrior, fallen again. What had happened? It seemed as if time reversed. The noises of nature were gone, as if Maha had never began, and the Blizzard Wraith stared at the pandas, bewildered. What sorcery could this be?

The pandas were fine, though the one with the large baggage was hiding behind the one with the scroll, complaining about the cold, his friend, and Maha. The panda with the bamboo hat simply stared straight at Maha.

Maha stilled. This creature could see him – truly _see_ him. The panda spoke," For a powerful spirit who slaughtered many innocent men, you don't appear as a monster."

The dark eyes were filled with such pity that Maha snarled, his honor urging him to claw them off. He choked, strangled in the familiar emotion of anger. He hadn't felt this for such a long time. His silence must be mistaken as fear for the panda began speaking in a soothing manner for Maha to calm down like comforting a frightened child. Maha became incensed but he listened to the hatted panda's purpose. He and his companion was traveling until word from El Nath pleaded to help the Blizzard Wraith move on. The quickest passage from El Nath to Mu Lung was the route Maha haunted.

Then the exorcist frowned. "But for a reason unknown to me, I cannot push you to the afterlife. Tell me Blizzard Wraith, what is your unfinished business in the mortal plane? Why do you kill?"

Maha huffed and called the exorcist a fool. If Maha had any unfinished business it was that he failed to avenge his death against the Spirit of the Snow. But what was the use when he could not find the spirit? What was the use when he no longer felt resentment towards her when paradoxically he was now stronger than he ever was before in death? Yes, his human self used to be great. He had it all: money, women, fame and power.

The spirit laughed. Perhaps it was he lacked the first two he could not move on? What a joke. Yet after Maha finished the exorcist had understanding written on his features.

"A warrior with unfinished business..." the panda whispered, nodding. "One you are not aware of. I see…"

The exorcist turned to his companion and talked silently into the furry ear before Maha could ask him what he meant. He could not hear their conversation, but was becoming wary as the emotions flashed across the face of the panda with the headband. A hushed argument, with the exorcist pleading and the friend groaning. Finally, the friend nodded, appearing slightly upset, as if convinced.

The panda with the headband reached into his bag, retrieving an object so small that fit inside his paw. Maha openly yelped with the small object enlarged into a weapon. A magnificent pole-arm, one that Maha had never seen before. Gleaming crimson jewels held by gold on its head. A blade so impressively sharp that even Maha, who cared little of the weapons as a man, was tempted to caress it. To treasure it. His hand curled where the handle of the weapon could once be - and faltered slightly. A weapon deserving for the greatest and he could not carry it.

Maha was so caught up staring at the pole-arm that he didn't hear the exorcist's foreign incantations. Only when he found himself floating closer against his will, a glowing golden symbol shining on the weapon that Maha finally paid attention to his surroundings. The panda who held the weapon was shaking his head. The exorcist smiled at Maha and it disturbed the spirit.

"I can't help you move on," the exorcist said before Maha felt a vacuuming sensation on his form as if he was sucked into the weapon itself. "But I can give you a better chance to."

And so the exorcist redirected Maha's curse to seal him into the pole-arm. For the first time in a long time Maha left the mountains.

* * *

Ever since Maha became the spirit of the pole-arm, he became tired. In all his knowledge and memory as a spirit Maha never felt tired. It's physical, something that just didn't happen to spirits and he tried to ask the panda who carried him what happened. Unfortunately he found himself so tired that he could barely voice his question. The exorcist panda laughed heartily next to him understanding Maha's condition completely. The exorcist had to use all of Maha's energy to transfer his curse from the mountain to the weapon.

"Do not worry," he said. "Your full strength would return eventually. Enjoy the beautiful scenery of Mu Lung. You have stayed in the mountains for a very long time."

But Maha was to wary to take in his surroundings. Exhaustion blurred his sight as if he was human. Physical.

Eventually the Spirit of the Polearm woke up - he had fallen asleep? - next to the panda who carried him before, now snoozing peacefully next to an -anvil? Maha glanced up and felt the questions died in his lips.

The sky was _blue_ and it was moving…no, it's not moving, the _clouds_ were moving. Little fluffy things racing through sky, passing over _green_ mountains with _buildings_ clustered on the top. Behind Maha was a building with a fade blue, tiled roof sitting snugly on top of four crimson pillars. The pillars guarded a stone furnace, flames devouring charcoal.

Golden eyes darted down, expecting to see _white white white,_ but was greeted with the hard earth, edged with deep, _black and rich soil_, where…plants. Sprouts and weeds and flowers and curving trees with lustrous pink blossoms. Leaves in bright green, sickly yellows, and dying reds. Not a single mundane pine as far as the eye can see.

Was he that sick of the mountains? Maha was not sure anymore. One thing he was confident of was that the oases of Nihal Desert were nothing compared to this.

He blinked.

Nihal Desert. It had been a while since he thought of his homeland hasn't it.

Then he saw something moving among the vegetation. Bugs. Animals. Creatures that didn't fall under the categories of "yeti", "scorpion", or "reptile". Curiosity piquing, Maha floated closer – -

Except he couldn't.

"You're bounded to the pole-arm."

The spirit turned back to the panda, who yawned, bones cracking as he stretched. Smacking his lips together, the blacksmith murmured," Ling's magic wasn't enough to break your curse. He had to weave his own and yours to tie your curse into the pole-arm so you could leave the mountain."

"Then…I can only move wherever the pole-arm is…" Maha said, a little crestfallen. At least in El Nath he could move around and wherever he stayed it was out of his will. After all the humans wouldn't be able to find him and challenge him if he moved around.

But the panda shook his head and said, "Don't look so down. If you have a powerful owner his energy will transfer into you, allowing you greater freedom."

An owner? What nonsense! He was Maha, the Blizzard Wraith - but may no longer be, he thought, calling for the snow only for the sparks fall short. Insistent, he openly protested against the panda.

"You are a pole-arm." The panda curtly replied.

"And I will have no master!"

"And you are a pole-arm."

"A weapon, not a slave!"

"Again, you are a pole-arm," the panda sighed, rubbing his neck. "I am Shun Yi, a blacksmith. The weapon you possess is my masterpiece. I have poured in my blood, sweat, and tears. I have used the rarest and the most durable gems and material. My greatest and final accomplishment."

Maha huffed. "And why should that concern me?"

"For one, _you are a pole-arm_," Shun Yi repeated emphasizing greatly. "And I will not see my masterpiece to be unused, to collect dust in the corner of my shop because of a ghost."

Aside, Shun Yi grumbled to himself, though Maha could hear him. "Damn you Ling, to use my masterpiece as an atypical lamp…"

Maha rolled his eyes. "Then where is my…owner," the word "owner" said as if he was eating bark.

The first Shun Yi smiled since Maha met him. "You don't. Not yet."

The blacksmith bend forward from his chair, paws weaved together in front of him, staring off wistfully. An elderly panda passing down the tales of his life's achievements, memories and legacies of whatever he is left of to another, he said he held a good business. Every weapon he created was given to the finest warriors but he simply does not have the strength he used to have. So he mustered his entire will to create the strongest weapon, the most powerful pole-arm ever.

"Now there will be more than a few warriors who would come to try owning you."

Key word. "Try?" Maha inquired.

"I don't want just _any_ warrior to carry my masterpiece. Ling managed to persuade me to use my pole-arm as a medium for you only because it would make it harder for a warrior to wield you. Before, the warrior must be powerful to wield the pole-arm that can change sizes. Not every warrior had enough mana to handle that."

The blacksmith touched the pole-arm and Maha watched in astonishment as his physical form fluctuated in sizes, from the size of an ant to the size of a two-story building, before zooming back into its original length. There was more magic energy in the blacksmith than what meets the eye and Maha could still feel the lingering mana. "But now that a spirit possesses the pole-arm the warrior must not only be physically strong, but also spiritually capable. And mentally too, if he does not want to be driven insane by _you_," the blacksmith jabbed lightly.

Basically, only the strongest of the strongest can wield me, concluded the Spirit of the Polearm. Only the strongest could conquer him, and if no one can then he was the strongest.

This wasn't so bad.

The first who held him after Shun Yi were the children from the village, eager young bloods who wanted to see the magical weapon themselves. Maha could not grow or shrink, or more like couldn't, for the children didn't have enough energy for Maha to use to change size. So when a child got a cut on his face it was an accident. But the children ran back to the village, blubbering about the 'really sharp and really mean pole-arm that cut Xianshou's face' to the adults, as if it was all Maha's fault. The adults came with the intent to scold the blacksmith for allowing the kids to play with a dangerous weapon. Upon seeing Maha though, they grudgingly conceded that Maha was a fine weapon, silently enamored. Who would resist attempting to carry it?

But the men could not handle Maha. Most could not lift him off. And the few who managed to carry him could not handle Maha after he grew twice as large, dropping him within seconds under the sudden weight. Stories spread like wildfires of the pole-arm and Maha received visitors from all over Ossyria. Renowned glaive-users traveled to the outskirts of Mu Lung to see if they were worthy to wield him. Even swordsmen and axesmen decided to change their weapon-of-choice to take Maha's test.

Shun Yi had to issue difficult tests to the challengers before they could face Maha because there were simply _too many of them_.

Even then, those who passed the tests were defeated by Maha. At first he used to instantly increased in size, crushing his adversaries and that was it. Done, game over, battle end.

Once there was a man who managed to hold Maha the longest than any other opponent. He arrogantly bragged to Shun Yi that his masterpiece would finally have a fitting owner. Insulted, Maha pulled more power from the man and released it out, expecting to grow into a tower.

Maha would never forget the way the man squealed, his hands to his elbows encased in ice in the middle of a warm sunny day. Maha was pleased.

Gradually the opponents stopped coming. "It is too much," they said. "That thing is no weapon. It shakes, it grows, and it drains your energy, only to use that energy back at you. It hurts its own wielder - a demon disguised as a pole-arm."

This time Maha could tell how long it was the last time he had a challenger. Now that the sky was not set in stone, the sun and moon making rounds across the expanse, Maha could count the days. He stopped counting after the hundreds. Each time the blacksmith wheezed through worn lungs, Maha was reminded how the years pass by. By the time the blacksmith's wrinkles stretched long, his furry skin creating bags, and his back sloped down like a low hill, Maha had defeated so many more men than he ever could in his mortal life. Was it not a proof of his victory that there were less warriors willing to have him? The ones who have tried have failed so miserably that they return to their homes in shame. The ones who haven't tried have heard tales and were cowered to even come.

The spirit was victorious.

However, Shun Yi was crossed. Satisfaction and disappointment mixed like sweet flowers with sandpaper. On one hand, the blacksmith's masterpiece became famous – the one weapon that "only the greatest of the greatest can wield." On the other hand, Shun Yi may not live to see the true master to have his weapon. A disappointment of a dying father who could not see his child grow up.

Shun Yi wrapped Maha in the finest silks as he did every night. The old panda asked the pole-arm if he was satisfied with his existence. Maha laughed. Although he had figments of old memories, of splashing liquor, of wild merriment and praises, of several pairs of smooth legs entwined with his, Maha still have his power. He was called with ferocious names: the Weapon of Winter, the Giant's Polearm, the Soul Drinker. He had outmatched every warrior in the world, proving that he was not only the strongest weapon in the world, but also the strongest, for no one can wield him. "What am I," Maha grinned, "if I am not content?"

...

The next day, Maha met another challenger.

This time, it was a young girl who approached him.

* * *

**A/N:** What caught my curiosity about Maha was that he wore clothing reminiscent of the people in Ariant. The typical Aladdin clothing. I then became very curious about Maha's past, had ideas, and then bam. Another character-centric story. It was supposed to be a much longer one-shot, but I decided to make it multi-chaptered with shorter chapters.

Also, the Spirit of the Snow and the Snowman are real characters from Maple World. There is a quest from Scadur the Hunter, who told the tale of how El Nath mountains were formed because of the Snowman's mom. The quests are really interesting - too bad a lot of people rush through the stories just to get the quest XD


	2. Where?

**A Martyr for a Riddle**

**Chapter 2**

**Where?**

* * *

She wore a shortened version of Mu Lung's traditional dress, but it wasn't her appearance that nearly provoked Maha. It was her ice blue eyes and snow-white hair, reminding the spirit of the mountains that he would love nothing more than to forget now that he learned how tiring, how dull his experienced in El Nath were. Memories he didn't need, now that he appreciated the land of the east and the past is unfitting for him.

She carried no weapon but she had a large grin that yelled boldness, an expression Maha would place on a grown man, not a young girl.

Shun Yi flipped his hammer repeatedly, a quirk he still kept even though he no longer created weapons. He scrutinized the girl before him and inquired whether she was lost. After all what else was her business in such a secluded place as his workshop?

Hands on her hips, the girl smirked. "You are Shun Yi, Sir Blacksmith, and the best blacksmith in Maple World, right?"

Shun Yi shook his head though he had a soft smile. "I am indeed Shun Yi and I am called Sir Blacksmith by those outside of Mu Lung. But I am not the best blacksmith in Maple World."

"Don't be so humble!" the girl exclaimed laughing heartily, slapping the panda blacksmith's back as if they were good old friends. "If you are Shun Yi, then I am not lost! I have come to have the best pole-arm you have ever made!"

"You mean Maha?" the blacksmith gestured the mentioned pole-arm, dressed in silks, yet to be undressed. Maha rolled his eyes. If her father wanted the pole-arm, he should have come here himself and face Maha like a true man. The spirit drowned out the conversation, more interested to watch the clouds pass as Shun Yi explained the tests to the girl – most likely to pass the knowledge to the real challenger who would come later.

But then the girl walked up to Maha, who floated just above her head, peeling off the cloths of his physical form despite Shun Yi's protests. "It's beautiful…" she said, eyes twinkling. Maha watched her touch the red jades on his handle delicately, as if he was fragile. Women. Their tendencies to treat shiny things precious was why they did not fight men's battles.

Shun Yi was old and it took minutes for him to stand and clasp the girl's shoulder, his eyes in warning. "This is no mere weapon." _Damn right. _"This pole-arm is extremely sharp, so sharp that it hurts its own wielder." Maha remembered the thousand men who fell to him and smiled in pride.

Yet the girl's smile grew even larger and she cracked her knuckles, "I cannot wait! Let me hold it before I take the tests, Sir Blacksmith!"

Maha was baffled. She would take the tests? Did that mean this child was his challenger? She didn't look she can lift up a mere hammer! Noticing the spirit's reaction, Shun Yi whispered so low that the girl could not hear him. The blacksmith explained that times were changing. There are more female warriors today than there were during his time.

Yet it was all nonsense! Maha had never seen any women who carried weapons like man and the concept is foolish. Naturally smaller and weaker, they could hurt themselves just by carrying them. Maha said this and added, " I don't fight women or children." After all, they are meant to stay in homes, not in the battlefield.

Before Shun Yi argue back, the girl clapped her hands together before grabbing Mah's handle, effortlessly lifting him up under the sunlight. The spirit's eyes bulged, taken aback before glaring. So the child wasn't _that_ bad after all. But Maha would rather die a thousand more times than be used by the weaker sex so he shook, attempting to wiggle out of her grasp. It should be enough for her.

She gasped," So the stories are true? It can move?"

Yes_ it_ can move and_ it_ has plenty more where that came from!_ Drop me and go away, brat_! Maha thought viciously as he shook harder. But the girl only held on tighter, her excitement growing and growing. Maha's aggravation increased.

Yet Shun Yi was in a much better mood. The blacksmith gently applauded. He complimented the girl's efforts then took a somber expression. Cautiously, he repeated, "But like I said, he is _very_ sharp. It is best you leave before you get hurt."

"_He_?" the girl repeated, still keeping a tight grip over Maha and _how annoying_. "Usually one would say 'she'?"

Shun Yi did not need to explain for Maha took the chance to twist in the girl's grasp, the blade facing her directly. She shrieked as Maha pushed forward, forcing the girl to walk backwards until her back collided with a tree's trunk. Trapped, she immediately dropped the polearm away from her, breathing harshly.

Maha scoffed. It served her right, to be so damned stubborn. He peered down his physical form, a little dirt sticking to it. No matter, Shun Yi would polish him and wrap him with silks until the next fool challenged to wield the greatest weapon in the world. If she wielded him any longer, he would have slived his neck clean. He looked back at the girl, who tried to restore her composure, slightly trembling. He glanced back to Shun Yi, who glared at him. "Tell her to leave," Maha demanded. "No child, less alone a female, will carry me. I won't be subjected to such humiliation."

The blacksmith sighed, weary eyes turning back to the girl, explaining that there was a powerful spirit in this pole-arm that will fight anyone who dares to wield him. If she desired a decent pole-arm, she should buy one from another store.

At those words, the girl calmed down, understanding on her features. "A spirit…that makes plenty of sense."

_What sense? _Maha thought as he exaggeratedly yawned, bored. "Just leave," he said to unhearing ears. "I have no body to pleasure you."

Shun Yi gaped at his direction, the panda's eyes comically bulging out of his sockets. The spirit shrugged. "I'm joking. Even if I was human, I wouldn't touch such a masculine, flat-chested girl anyway."

Oblivious to the mocking voice, the girl looked back down to the pole-arm, opening and closing her fingers. Pounding one fist to an open hand, the girl walked past the pole-arm, past Shun Yi, walking towards the backyard. She turned her head over her shoulder, grinning. "I apologize Maha! You attacked me because I didn't take the test, right? I shall take the test before trying again!"

Before she opened the gates to Shun Yi's ginseng garden, she yelled, her voice carrying all the way to the blacksmith and the spirit. "I AM ARAN! REMEMBER IT, MAHA, FOR IT WILL BE THE NAME OF YOUR NEW COMPANION!" Maha heard the gates opened and closed shut.

A silence fell over the store. Shun Yi broke it first, "What a fascinating girl! I have never seen a challenger as direct and open as her."

"An _irritating_ girl," Maha harrumphed, crossing his arms. "And I refuse to see her as a challenger."

"Stubborn weapon, give her a chance. I have a good feeling about her, Maha," Shun Yi said, dark eyes flashing. "She tackled the test without any hesitation. She did not recoil from the idea of a spirit in a weapon. And finally…"

But he spoke no longer, instead snickering a small, childish laugh, so out of character that the spirit wouldn't forget for years to come.

* * *

Hours later, the girl returned, blood on her hands, sweat on her brow. Though clearly exhausted, chest heaving and hair matted down, she had a victorious grin. She apologized for taking a long time. She expected to have a new weapon that she did not bring her own.

Shun Yi brought her a wet towel, to which the girl accepted, gracious. "You left before I could tell you the details of the test. What did you do?"

"Eh?" the girl said, brushing off the hair strands sticking on her face. "You said go beat up the guys in your backyard. So I went there, saw a bunch of bears sitting around and eating roots, and I beat them all up."

"With your fists?" Shun Yi asked, incredulous. "And how many did you fight?"

"Not sure. I didn't count but it was all of them," the girl smiled brilliantly, passing the surprised panda, making unwavering strides toward the pole-arm.

Maha narrowed his eyes as the girl clapped her hands together again. He stirred the limited energy inside of him – he would make this quick. A cut on her face, a long one from her eye to her chin. Shallow enough to not kill her, but deep enough to remain; no man would marry a scarred woman. This brat would never forget this insolence for the rest of her life.

But instead of grabbing Maha's handle as she did before, the girl sat down on the ground in front of him, legs crossed and hands on her knees. She's humming, breathing deeply in and out.

"What is she doing?" the spirit demanded to Shun Yi. "Why is she meditating?" The panda simply stroked his beard, a small smile playing on his furry lips.

"I am ready!" the girl suddenly announced. Maha turned back to her, growling as she grasped on his handle again. The persistent little bitch! He glowed softly red in warning, prepared to give this girl with nightmares to last decades. The girl shined at his response though.

"So you are excited as I am?" the girl laughed. "Wonderful! Let us have a glorious fight, Maha!"

The spirit didn't have time to react when Aran plunged his blade into a nearby rock, the unharmonious clash jarring him. Even the blacksmith looks as dumbstruck as Maha and the pole-arm yelled, questioning the Aran's sanity. But she can't hear him, swinging him into the rock over and over again.

And over and over _and over and over and over - _

"WHAT IS THIS!?" cried Maha. He could feel her mana through the weapon, flowing around him but not _into_ him. There was more than enough to call the power of ice, but how could he when he couldn't even tap into it?

"Oh, he's shaking harder," Aran commented pausing. Maha was a spirit but he struggled to drain the girl her mana, his physical form shaking from the metal vibrations, extending to his spiritual self. "Does that mean you're becoming excited?"

She laughed again. "Perfect! I am as well – let us continue, Maha!"

Aran returned forcing Maha into the rock, creating cracks all over the hard, uneven surface. With every clang, Maha quaked, wincing at the cacophonous sound even when he couldn't feel the clash. He peered at Shun Yi and the spirit couldn't tell whether Shun Yi was gaping because his "masterpiece" was being used to hit a rock or still not processing the fact he's being used _on a rock_. As the noise rang throughout the forest, birds flew out of their nests, animals ran further away, and Maha screamed.

"TELL HER TO STOP!" the spirit cried to the blacksmith. "CAN SHE DAMAGE ME LIKE THIS? _IS SHE DAMAGING ME!?" _

Finally, Aran broke the rock in half, the weight of the two sides falling in two halves, rumbling the earth. "I must find another rock," she concluded.

"WILL YOU STOP!?"

Aran paused. She turned to the perturbed blacksmith. "Did you say something?"

The panda said nothing, shaking his head dazedly. Maha bellowed for him, "A ROCK! WHY A ROCK!? WHAT KIND OF FIGHT IS THIS SUPPOSED TO BE?"

The girl froze, slowly turning her head upward, her ice blue eyes staring. In turn, Maha did as well. "So…you are Maha."

The pole-arm spirit was too dumbfounded to respond, stupidly gawking back and forth from Aran to Shun Yi, who dropped his hammer. Aran did the same, looking down at the pole-arm than back to its possessor, though with lips curved upwards like a glaive's blade. "Oh, finally! I was beginning to fear that I lost my touch." She laughed openly at Maha's still stunned form. "Does this mean I pass the test? Can I take you home with me?"

Maha double-took, finally out of his stupor. He had defeated countless challengers and he would not lose now to a mere child of all persons. He declared so yet the little girl did not falter. Instead she beams, simply praising Maha for his victories.

Eye shining, she said, "tell me your tales after I show you to my clan!"

Maha responded coldly. Long later, when he would look back to this moment, the warrior would cringe, ashamed. When he was done a quiet descended upon the lonely blacksmith shop. The air became still, life stopped growing, and Aran's smile froze. Slowly it darkened into an insidious, dark frown, the mirth no longer in her eyes and Maha could hear the blacksmith tsking behind him. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," the panda said.

Aran seethed. Cheeks reddened and nostrils flaring - Shun Yi attempted to defend Maha, create understanding - "He's likely thousands of years old!" - useless trivia until Aran grinned maliciously. Maha had to suppress a shudder when she spat out that she would take the greatest pole-arm with her, whether the spirit loathed it or not like the finality of a death toll.

Before Maha could counter with a grand list of curses and obscenities that could shame anyone and their family for generations, the she-warrior slammed him into another rock with the blunt side of the pole-arm, another ripple jarring the spirit. Still couldn't figure out what sorcery she's using, how he can feel the impact as if he had a body and was stunned back to silence.

She warned, "Behave, or I will make your existence as a pole-arm. Very. Miserable."

The spirit was forcibly dragged away from the mountainside as Shun Yi waved him away, enthusiastically encouraging Maha to get along with his new owner. Maha, with every fiber of his spiritual being, vehemently swearing against the blacksmith and his new wielder until said wielder whacked him against another rock by the road.

Yet shortly soon Aran seemed to lose her anger, beginning to describe about herself and the people she belonged to. "I am from the Rien Clan. We came from the northeast of Mu Lung, until…" As the snow haired girl continued, unbeknownst to her, Maha repeatedly tried shoving against her mana, flowing all around him, should be enough to unleash his abilities and couldn't - a branch full of fruits a finger away from his reach.

The Spirit of the Pole-Arm sulked. Subdued by a little girl and unable to call forth his magic. For the first time as a weapon he felt truly powerless.

* * *

It was a humble colony of large tents. Shelters made of animal hides in the shapes of hats, supported by pillars of bones Maha have neither seen before nor care. Even though he didn't have a nose to smell, Maha scrunched his face at the mud caked children screaming and chasing each other, all appeared positively filthy. At least the streetrats at Ariant didn't have bugs crawling over their squished faces. The children were so into their play that they didn't noticed Aran and Maha, but it's not like he desired attention from a bunch of brats.

Maha glanced at Aran and swiftly turned away, his bad mood returning. One brat was enough.

A cursory scan of the new surroundings – men and women dressed in altered Mu Lung's clothing, sewn for easy movement. Maha noticed that the people were all deconstructing the tents, packing and loading their belongings…on the back of wolves.

"They're magnificent, aren't they?" Aran's voice trilled in pride. Maha, on the other hand, looked away, forcibly squashing a bloodthirsty grin at the memory of hectors, werewolves and lycanthropes. They were the first who had the honor of test targets of his ice spears though their packs learned better enough to leave his mountain soon afterward.

A female voice towards their direction and a woman with an armful of furs next to one of the wolves beckoned for Aran for help. Immediately, Aran laid Maha to a nearby tree, his "new wielder" leaving him unguarded. Maha's eyes flashed; this was an opportunity to leave – if only someone held him so he could sap out the mana to transport himself...

Clearly the universe was not in his favor. Soon, the group of screaming children who ignored Aran before have caught sight of the "shiny, pretty pole-arm" and a shower of dirty, greedy palms nabbed his form. The commotion thankfully drew an adult, an imposing man with dark blue hair arrived just before Maha was considering numbing a few fingers.

After waving the children out of his way, though they stay close, squealing like pigs. The man studied Maha with an admiring gaze. "A fine pole-arm. Who owns you?"

_No one_, answered Maha, as the man grabbed the handle with firm hands, raising the weapon high. The man had plenty mana, the energy flowing freely into Maha unlike the wretched girl. The spirit rolled the magic into a ball, preparing to summon the arctic wind, fierce enough to carry him anywhere but here. He had not done this before, but he could damn well try.

Bursting the wound up magic, the spirit released a frustrated groan when the man dropped the handle, his hands suddenly encased in ice. Maha had not reached that level of skill yet it seemed.

The horde of children who watched the event unfolded ran screaming back to the other adults like yelping pups, crying out of a cursed weapon. It was not long until the rest of the clan – a large clan now that they're all gathered - surrounded Maha at a safe distance, who nonchalantly counted the blue haired heads, in shades of the sky from dawn to late noon; Aran, with her pale hair, must be an outsider then. Another reason to disapprove her.

The man who Maha accidentally froze slammed the ice onto the ground, shattering the icy cuffs. His hands were trembling and fiercely red, the tips of his fingers pale yellow with a tinge of blue. Frostbite if he did not break it. The man gestured wildly at the weapon, brows down in a deep v, throat bobbling like a wild animal. He exclaimed fearfully that Maha must be tossed into the depths of the black ocean where "it could harm no one!"

In response the pole-arm summoned spears of ice that lanced around him like guards, drawing gasps and fear from the people. They take a step back while Maha smirked. If they wanted to toss him into the ocean, they have to suffer first.

The white head that swam among the blue heads stuck out like a sore thumb. Maha blew his intangible bangs as Aran squeezed between the bodies to confront the crowd. She turned her back to the weapon as if to protect the pole-arm, apologizing profusely. She cried that Maha belonged to her, that she would take full responsibility and the clan returned with heated questions of where she found such a weapon. Trying to shape Maha to be a victim to garner sympathy - a play Maha detested and voiced so. Aran ignored him and dealt with her baffled people.

Then the noises fell as the crowd slowly parted. An elderly woman was making her way through. Hunched over, she was dressed in layers of fabrics, ceremonial ornaments decorated her form, and her curled, wooden cane clacked with every step. The snow haired girl became agitated, shuffling her feet with her gaze down, the ground suddenly more interesting.

"Shaman Iva…"

The shaman's glassy eyes made Maha assume that she was blind until the wrinkly face smiled at him. Another one could see him. "Now now Aran, no need to be so afraid. I'm not going to lecture you." A bony finger pointed at the pole-arm behind the girl. "Once we arrive to the mountains, take your friend to my yurt. Then you can tell me your tale."

"Yes Shaman Iva," Aran said obediently. She ignored Maha's sneers, already kicking down the bars of ice to grab the pole-arm's hilt. There it is, the immense block between him and her mana, and Maha's ice magic halted even when there was mana remaining. He gaped. Not only could he not take her energy, but she could block him from using his?

He cried, "What fruitless wench birthed a dysfunctional being like you?"

Aran thwacked the pole-arm onto the side of a tree for good measure before mounting on her wolf.

The travel wasn't anything worth Maha's attention. The clan rode north, over rivers and through valleys, merely moving to another spot in Mu Lung where the game was more plentiful. With wind fast wolves, the clan reached their destination just as the sun crawled under the horizon, the day bluing. The people set their camps at the bottom of rolling mountains by a stream, around them miles of lush trees. The wolves took their rest as the clan's men set up the shaman's yurt before attending to their own.

With a lowered head, Aran entered into the tent where the shaman waited, her grip on Maha tightening. A bamboo mat was rolled out with a an foldable table sitting on the center before the witch. On it were not shrunk skulls, crystal balls, or weird beads. Simply there was a tray carrying two mugs and a small kettle. Taking her time, the shaman poured the tea into her mug, sipping as she gestured Aran to sit in front of her.

"Now," the shaman began over the edge of the cup, "why don't you introduce me to your friend?"

Maha splayed out an arm in front of Aran. He could introduce himself just fine. Chest puffed like a proud rooster, the spirit announced his name, his titles, his abilities, and most importantly, what he was to the world: the most powerful pole-arm in the world and a warrior before that. Golden eyes flaring, he snarled at the snow haired girl below him, accusing Aran to be a cheater. To block her mana like that - she was not truly tested.

The strongest warrior who would wield him must prove to Maha to have strength, swinging the pole-arm with finesse. The strongest warrior who would wield him must show exceptional mana and control, handling his fluctuating sizes with ease. The strongest warrior who would wield him must prove to be spiritually capable, willing to receive the burden of being drained of energy by Maha to unleash full potential. The strongest warrior who would wield him must prove to be compatible, to compete with Maha in strength and magic, illustrating the masterful relationship between owner and weapon.

But Aran was not truly tested and thus did not deserve to wield him. Maha would be hindered by this scrawny child.

The snow haired girl said, "You're just being a sore loser. I beat you fair and square."

"I have conquered thousands of adventurers from here to the far west of Minar Forest," began the fuming spirit. "All have fallen to my powers of ice like that man. But you –_you_ blocked my power. How is that fair? If I wanted to freeze your lungs, drop your body like an empty little husk, I would have done so already!"

"It's a pity," the shaman's voice interrupted the thundering wielder and weapon. "That you have no body, young man. The green tea is very delicious."

"Shaman Iva…" Aran started as Maha twirled away, crossing his arms as the little warrior began to explain her side. She took down her yurt when the sun barely crept over the horizon, waking with the dawn. Deciding to spend time in the nearest village, she overheard a group of men speaking of the greatest blacksmith in the world living so close by to their modest town. Shun Yi's skills and the infamy of his final weapon have given the region great respect and reputation throughout the land. Desiring the best pole-arm existed, she inquired where the blacksmith lived and learned he did not live far from the clan's hunting area.

She ended with a bemoaning note. The best weapon in the world was possessed neither by a wise sage, a ferocious animal spirit nor a patient mentor, but by a childish, irritating spirit! The alluring mystique of the spirits, the invisible guardians of the world, have fractured because of Maha.

The Spirit of the Polearm was no less pleased as well. He snarled, "Then why don't you just drop me off to the nearest village and save us the trouble, idiot?"

Aran groaned. "I would if you weren't in _the greatest pole-arm in the world_." A hand caressed the red jade on the weapon's head yearningly before transforming into a fist. The she-warrior turned to the shaman with pleading ice blue eyes. A ritual, an exorcism - there must be something to remove the blasted spirit from the weapon! Maha snorted, knowing fully well the futility of her efforts.

The unchanging expression of the shaman hinted the same thought as well.

There was no way to remove Maha and the shaman broke this down to Aran. Then she turned to Maha with bright eyes. Aran was a fine warrior, already a known hunter of the Rien Clan. Though not "tested" as Maha claimed, Aran was a very talented, gifted young girl. "Strength, magic, and spirituality. She has all of them. You will not be disappointed."

Golden eyes scrutinized the witch - and the warrior's mood was slowly alleviated. With her fragility she was a reminder of mortality and the thought was heartening. Maha had time and time and time. It was unlikely that the snow haired brat could wield him long. Though aggravating it would be to not use his power, to be constantly held down - why not humor the kid? Even if she managed to hold him down for the rest of her life, she would not for the rest of _his _life.

Maha would inevitably outlive her and everyone.

Ultimately he could use this to his advantage.

"You have convinced me, witch," Maha said politely for the first time. Aran glanced up at him with surprise."I never had an...owner before and I am unused to this sudden change. Perhaps I was hasty in my judgment." Not an apology - the spirit would never apologize - but it was enough. The shaman released a sudden laugh, light and airy, while Aran tilted her head. Maha could not decipher her quiet countenance but it was not negative for once.

Then something strange happened. The she-warrior widened her eyes as if jolted and a boisterous grin took her features. "I understand! If that is the case then it could be easily fixed. We are bound to spend more time together now that we are companions!"

Thanking the shaman for her time, Aran bowed, picked up Maha, and left the yurt, her mood boosted considerably. The warrior spirit's words must have affected her so much for she began humming as she passed by the other clansmen without care. Typical.

Most of the tests were set up but nearly everyone was gathered around the fire in the center of the settling grounds, munching away of a caught boar. Offered a leg, Aran graciously declined, responding that she still had not set up her own tent. With that said, the little pole-arm user quietly stepped around the sleeping wolves to relieve her load from one of them, her arms full of her luggage, balancing Maha carefully on top of them.

"If you stop blocking your mana I could tap into it and become smaller," the spirit remarked. Aran raised a brow and replied she's doing nothing of the sort.

Great. She was talented in being difficult without trying.

She laid down the foundation of her yurt, rolling out bamboo mats and placing Maha on the center. The rest of her labor was uninteresting so Maha looked up to the fall moon, a beaming round orb among the dotted sky that danced until the bone pillars raised around him, leather over leather laid like a bridge, enclosing the moon until it was shut close with the final blanket. The spirit finally took a lazy survey around: the tent was smaller than the others, much smaller than Shaman Iva's. Other than the makeshift bed of fur rugs set up next to Maha on the center and the leather baggage on the side, the tent was empty. Minimal living.

Standing by the baggage with her back turned, Aran started undressing.

Maha asked, "You're going to sleep already?"

The girl shrieked, shoulders up like a cat, and turned with wide ice blue eyes that contrasted the dark, red cheeks. Her dress gathered around her waist where the band was and her arms covered her chest. In her work she had nearly forgotten that Maha was inside with her. "Have some decency!" she cried. "Don't you have the sense to look away?!"

The spirit scoffed. "You flatter yourself too much." Closing his eyes, yellowed memories of full hips and bosoms, dark smoky eyes and creamy light skin. Redheads and blondes and brunettes, all of their hairs were rich and voluminous and some didn't wore skirts, bands of silk covering what was necessary to be tempting. Sly, dangerous smiles.

Nodding, Maha opened his eyes and deliberately points at Aran's covered chest as if he was isolating an unripened fruit in a market stand by the street. "You're a child. Don't worry, your body holds no interest to me or for anyone for that matter."

He would have continued how dull her white hair was, how her skin was too dark, too tanned, how her stick-like body was too immature but Aran already threw the weapon unceremoniously out her tent.

* * *

He was not being hypocritical. When he was alive he didn't care much for his weapons and justifiably so. They were tools, merely means for the ends, and they broke after harsh use - what was the point of cherishing them? But the Giant Polearm was different. It was the greatest weapon in existence and it housed a powerful spirit; he should be treated well.

Maha spent a good hour telling Aran this until he gave up, the girl not responding back, most likely covering her ears with her pillow. Dawn rose quickly enough and when the girl emerged from her tent, she gave a glare at the weapon and walked passed to the stream, washing her face.

The spirit expected Aran to not touch him until Shaman Iva gestured towards him and asked Aran," Aren't you going to take him out hunting?"

Grudgingly Aran picked Maha up. The witch needed to learn to stop interfering in others' businesses.

Apparently Aran didn't hunt with the others. Despite what Shun Yi claimed, the notion of a warrior female was still not common. Maha watched the men round up their parties, a few boys joining them, coming to age and in need of the experience. The women and the younger girls have picked up their pots and baskets, walking to the stream and the nearest bushes to gather. The off, white haired girl simply wrapped a rope with wooden handle knotted into it around her arm, a knife in a pocket attached to the belt she clasped on her waist, and announced her leave to the clan before striding off to the forest.

Dark under the gray light, the shadows of the mossy trees made the dirt appear pitch black on areas the leaves did not cover. All was quiet save for the swaying branches, the chirping birds, and Aran who occasionally sweeps her boot across the ground, searching.

'Do you even know how to hunt?' Maha didn't ask, content to let the bitter tension between them fester until Aran halted in front of a patch of matted grass. So she did, taking a cursory scan around and stalking with her body bent low, careful not to make a sound as she inched closer and closer to a clump of bushes sitting snugly between two hanging oaken trees. There, a wild boar turning over grass patches, its furry brown snout sniffing into the dirt. Aran laid Maha and her rope down, completely focused as she whipped out the knife, still silent.

Like a snake she slithered through the bushes, stopping every time the boar looked up. Closing in, she jumped out of the bushes, taking advantage of the startled boar by slashing across the snout. It's not a heavy wound, a scratch in Maha's opinion, and the squealing boar charged at Aran. The girl deftly ran back into the bushes and returned to the pole-arm, picking it up and swinging it at the head. The skull cleanly rolled off, the red life spilling out of the throat as it fell. A quick prayer left between breaths. "Return to the earth, brother."

So she's not quite useless after all. But when she tied the rope around the hog's hinds, dragging it over roots and dirt, Maha couldn't help himself. "You can hunt, but you don't know how to field dress?" Aran was the one startled this time. She did not expect the spirit to speak at all. "Gods, if you'e so determined to be a man you might as well finish the job."

"What is that supposed to mean? And I always do it this way."

"Dragging a dead, bleeding catch to your village and have someone else do the job for you?"

The girl looked away with puffed cheeks. "I can't do it by myself. Gutting is disgusting and I usually mess up..."

Maha rolled his eyes. Of all the weaknesses she had it was this. "Don't burden someone else with your lack of skill. You've already done enough for one." Before Aran could reply, anger out like a disturbed scorpion from dormant, Maha was already floating next to some of the nearby trees. Tall, strong, branches that wouldn't fall easily - nothing like the metal stands he used in Ariant, but they should be good enough. Skinning, gutting, and butchering is nearly the same for all game. He didn't see her bringing a hook with her, but if they used -

Maha blinked. 'They?'

Aran called, "What are you looking for?"

Though slightly bothered, the spirit began directing Aran how to field dress. Since the head was gone and the boar was small enough she could tie the hinds and hang it over that branch. Let the blood drain. Use the pole-arm to steady it; next time bring a hook - she didn't, fine, buy one in a village. If hooks existed during his time than they should today. Use the knife and start cutting a circle - no, not too deep, the job was already messy as it is -

A growl. Maha turned to see a striped cat prowling through the forest floor, paws painted red. Maha had seen wiry, small stray cats but never one this large. It must had been following the trail of blood Aran left behind. It's much larger than the boar the brat killed but it still wouldn't be much of a -

Why was it farther?

The spirit looked down and saw the ground moving, then looked behind him to see Aran sprinting away with the pole arm clutched close to her - the cat wasn't going farther, _he _was moving away because of the radius. Irked, the spirit said, "Why are you running away from a cat? And you're leaving your hunt behind."

"It's a tiger!" Aran panted not looking back once. "It's a scout for the goblin - the cats never go up this north, what is it doing here?" She yelped, nearly tripping over a fairly large root. "We need to get out of here and tell the clan."

"So you're going to flee like a little girl?" This time Aran did turn back, flashing a glare. "My mistake, you_ are_ a little girl. A typical, scared little girl - I shouldn't have expected any less." The shaman spoke so proudly of Aran but the weapon ghost never believed her.

The snow haired warrior stopped, slamming the butt of the pole arm to the ground to yell unhindered. "You don't know anything! The Sage Cats have been attacking humans lately and only Shaman Iva has mastery over her magic like they do! Warning the clan is wiser than attacking their scout."

Maha crossed his arms. "Magic? That's what you're afraid of?" He laughed. "You are truly unfit to be wield me."

He dived down to face directly to Aran, the girl backing a step at the close proximity. Maha sneered," I am the master of blizzards. With a drop of mana I can chill a grown man into his bones, slice his neck clean with a spear crafted of ice. His blood would freeze before it sprays." The spirit was cut off by the tiger that returned once again, pouncing directly in front of Aran, sharp, calculating amber eyes following every twitch the girl made. Behind it the shadows moved, cat wearing human clothing emerged from the shadows. Fanning itself, the monster purred, "What's stopping you little human? Aren't you going back home?"

Aran gulped. "It's a sage..." Trembling, she said, "Maha, you mean...if you have mana you can perform a spell?"

The spirit couldn't answer. Aran's mana...it's sputtering, a flintstone spitting out sparks. Each sliver of energy that entered Maha's form carried an uncomfortable, choking sensation. When the spirit nodded, the tunnel grew, Aran's magic flowing into him.

As well as her fear.

And when Aran swings the pole arm down even Maha wasn't prepared for the symphony.

* * *

A/N: Shaped the last chapter and rewritten and added more to this chapter.


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